


Recompense

by Arumattie



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Au Ra, Breathplay, Canon Divergence, Character Death, Elezen, M/M, Rape, Restraints, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 00:02:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8468131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arumattie/pseuds/Arumattie
Summary: They had already paid for their failures, but there was one who still lived, still breathed--one whom Grinnaux still sought compensation from.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this almost a year ago for a friend, and then it proceeded to sit on my hard drive for months before I finally remembered to actually give it to her. (And now I am finally posting it, at her encouragement.) This fic was written per her request, even if I personally felt quite bad for putting the poor fellow through it, haha; Herodotus belongs to her.
> 
> Do things need spoiler warnings anymore? Anyway, spoilers up through the Vault.

Pain.

It was a fierce, lancing pain in his skull that woke him. Groaning, Herodotus rolled onto his side, trying to find a position that didn’t _hurt_ ; relief, however, eluded him. Disoriented, the world was a dizzying blur of colors and shadows as he struggled to remember where he was, and then it all came back with frightening clarity.

The Vault. Ser Aymeric’s rescue. The fight with Grinnaux.

Immediately, his mind was filled with the sounds of the dying—blood-curling screams that sent chills down his spine. Already weakened by a fight with one juggernaut, Herodotus remembered the inhuman power that stood before him next, remembered how he first saw Vernal fall—his sword and shield dropping from lifeless hands. With his last arrow held like a dagger, Joellaut was the next to go, red blossoming from his throat and painting the floor.

Grinnaux had come for _him_ then, and he recalled watching that great axe lift into the air as his life flashed before his eyes. The last thought he had before the world faded into black, though, was of sweet Sosona running toward him, cane lifted.

 _Shit_ , Sosona—what had happened to her?

Filled with renewed energy, Herodotus lurched to his feet—or at least, he tried to. Balance put off by his injuries, he collapsed back against the floor, dizziness overtaking him. Herodotus held his head in his hands, trying to take stock of the situation: he was alone in a cell, naked and beaten, and with nothing to defend himself; he allowed himself a wry smile. _Well, damn._

“Ah, has the hero of the hour finally awakened from his slumber?”

The voice drifted from down the hall, quickly followed by the tell-tale clink of armor—the former sound being far more worrisome than the latter. By the time the damned knight made his appearance, a deep scowl had formed across Herodotus’ lips.

“Ser Adelphel would like a word with you, but only after I have finished.” The man smiled, a vicious curl of the lips. “I have not yet forgotten the shameful defeat you handed me at the trial.”

“So you intend to exact your revenge on an unarmed man,” Herodotus spat out, disdain in every word. “And you call yourself an honorable knight of the Holy See?”

Kneeling, Grinnaux quietly tutted and then grabbed at his hair, yanking him forward with one gauntleted hand. “I come not as a knight but as a man whose name has been besmirched by a filthy foreigner,” he murmured, quiet and deadly. “You think you know shame, Warrior of Light?” From this distance, Herodotus could clearly see the hate in the man’s cold, hard gaze, despite the haziness of his own vision. “You shall wish that your little friend’s spell had not saved you by the time I’m finished with you.

“Mm, yes. What was her name? Sosona?” Grinnaux stood back up and put on a thoughtful countenance. “She had spirit, that one.” He chuckled darkly, and Herodotus felt his blood run cold. “She looked so pretty dressed in red.

“Truly, she was a sight to die for.”

“Bastard!” Again, Herodotus lurched to his feet, and this time, his fury gave him strength, pushing him past his physical limits and to forget the pain that wracked his body. He hurled himself, armed only with his fists, at Grinnaux. 

Who did nothing but smile mockingly.

Frustrated and furious, Herodotus snarled and threw a punch at Grinnaux's head, and the knight deflected the attack easily with one hand, grabbing his wrist and then _twisting_ it until he howled in pain. Then and only then did the knight relinquish his grip, shoving him away as if he were only a babe; Herodotus fell back against the wall, his hand immediately going to cradle his now injured wrist. 

"Your adventurer friends were but the first to die in the Vault." He grinned. "The heretics were the next to go: Ser Aymeric and his blond bitch."

"Liar!" Once more, he forced his beaten body forward with a roar. Herodotus swung wildly with his good hand, his attacks a mess of desperation—all but blind in their direction. Oh, how he would have loved nothing more than to have a staff at his disposal right now. The magical fury built up within him would incinerate his foe in mere seconds... !

Instead of magical might, however, his fists met perfectly crafted metal--bruising and bloodying his knuckles as Grinnaux let Herodotus beat at him to no avail. Herodotus shouted his frustration before once more aiming for the man's head, but this, apparently, was the end of Grinnaux’s patience. 

With alarming speed, a hand gripped one horn and yanked, throwing Herodotus off his feet and bringing him to his knees, his head craned upward at an awkward angle; his fingers clawed helplessly at that pristine white armor, smearing it with red. With a vicious smile upon his lips, Grinnaux slammed his foot into his abdomen, forcing all of the air out of Herodotus’ lungs and all thought from his head.

His strength all but gone, the pain and exhaustion quickly overrode the anger and despair that had drove him before. Above him, his attacker was a blur, but Herodotus thought he could just make out the glimmer of white teeth against dark skin. Quite suddenly, the knight released his horn, and to his own horror, Herodotus now lacked the energy to even support himself, all but collapsing to the floor without the other’s hand to keep him up.

Body trembling on the cold floor, he groped about for the bottom of Grinnaux’s skirt, hand closing weakly around the fabric. The small act of defiance caused the knight to chuckle, and it was with amusement that he pulled the cloth from Herodotus’ grasp.

“You’ve more spirit than I thought, Warrior of Light.”

A little glimmer of pride filled him, but it was quickly extinguished when he felt that armored foot collide with his side once again. Over and over and _over_ , the blows fell upon every part of his body until he did not even have the ability to try and protect himself.

And then Grinnaux walked away.

A foolish sense of relief filled him as he heard the footsteps grow ever fainter. His body ached and refused to obey him, doing barely more than sustaining the beating of his heart and the shallow rise and fall of his chest. As he lay there on the cold, unforgiving floor, sleep threatened to take him, his eyelids growing ever heavier with each passing second. Herodotus struggled to stay conscious, afraid of what would happen if his eyes fell shut, but darkness would claim him at last, enveloping him in its sweet embrace.

***

Ice water woke him with a start, and he gasped— _shit shit_ shit _, what was happening now?_

Disoriented from his abrupt awakening, Herodotus followed his basest instinct to get out of the frigid water, fingers clawing at the ground, only to notice the heavy manacles circling his wrists and— _fuck!_ —his ankles as well. All the same, he struggled, inching his way across the floor, not realizing that his tormentor stood mere feet away.

Grinnaux’s laughter, however, would remind him all too clearly of what was happening here, drawing his attention to the source of the sound. Out of the corner of his eye, Herodotus could make out the figure of the knight—no longer decked out in his white armor. Whether or not this was a good thing, he was unsure, but Herodotus had no doubt that he wouldn’t have long to wait to find out.

“Did you think I was done with you, hero?” He bent over and patted Herodotus’ cheek condescendingly. “I have only just begun.”

With a soft chuckle, Grinnaux disappeared from his line of sight, and then there was the sound of a crank being turned. There were no sudden changes that he could see, despite the rattling of the chains on the ground, but when he felt the tug against his wrists, his exhausted mind caught on to the horror that awaited him.

Grinnaux meant for him to _stand_ in his current state.

Swallowing hard, Herodotus braced himself for the inevitable and searched for some unfound well of strength within himself. Little by little, the chains lifted him off the floor: first his arms, then his chest, his waist, and then— _Heavens, this was agony_ —onto his knees; the torment continued until Herodotus was forced to balance precariously on his toes.

He cried then, tears spilling unbidden onto his cheeks, as the pain lanced from his feet and arced all the way up his spine. Never— _never_ —in all of his adventures had he felt such agony.

His knees shook uncontrollably; his wrists chafed and burned; his limbs felt like they were about to be wrenched from their sockets. When he felt a strong arm circle his waist and support some of his weight, Herodotus sobbed with relief—only for the feeling to immediately switch to horror when he realized _who_ was standing behind him. 

“I intend to debase you in the most humiliating way possible,” Grinnaux whispered, his breath curling hotly against his skin; _teeth_ dragged along the curve of his neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. A calloused hand traveled down toward his groin, and Herodotus was suddenly and _keenly_ aware of his own nakedness—of where that damned hand was going. At the first brush of fingers against his cock, Herodotus stiffened visibly against the arm that still held him up.

"I consider myself a connoisseur of the flesh, and while I care not for that empty skull of yours, the body..." Uncaring fingers curled around his flaccid length and began to stroke. "I could enjoy the body. Take what is still yet to be taken."

“—no!”

Clearly amused, Grinnaux made soft hushing sounds, as if trying to soothe a child, while a cool hand traced idle patterns across his skin, mapping out bruises and cuts—pressing harder when Grinnaux found a particularly injured spot. Herodotus bit at his lower lip and tried desperately to deny the knight the satisfaction of hearing him suffer, but the soft whines could not be helped; his body had long since given up at trying to mask the pain behind heroic stunts and brave idiocy. 

To add insult to injury, Grinnaux began rocking his hips against his ass, and with each pained cry that he managed to elicit, the knight grew harder behind him—the line of his cock hot against his skin despite the cloth that still separated them. 

It was _disgusting_.

“I didn’t get to play with that bastard Aymeric,” Grinnaux confessed, his voice roughening with arousal. He bit down, _hard_ , on Herodotus’ shoulder, as if releasing his pent up frustrations upon his beaten and bruised body, and his hips thrust forward with a particular viciousness. “Not when we took him and not when we killed him.

“It wasn’t fair.” Grinnaux’s hand traveled upwards from his still flaccid cock toward his neck in a mockery of a caress, closing gently around his throat. “But you… I almost don’t want to share you with Ser Adelphel.”

Without warning, the knight squeezed, sharply cutting off his air supply, and Herodotus writhed, struggling against the man behind him and the restraints that held him. The chains jangled loudly above his head, and his tail whipped about frantically; the edges of his vision darkened as he felt his consciousness slipping away from him.

_He was dying, he was dying, he was—!_

“Oh, seems I was a little overzealous. I want you awake for this part.” The hand was gone, as was the arm supporting him, and Herodotus was left to hang from his wrists, his knees giving out as he desperately sucked the air back into his lungs—coughing and hacking all the while. He didn’t hear a word of what else Grinnaux might have said over the pounding of the blood in his ears—didn’t notice the man had come back behind him until he felt a hand rest on his hip and hot, hard flesh nudge against the crack of his ass.

Eyes growing wide in abject horror, he tried to shy away, but Grinnaux’s hold only tightened.

 _No no no no—_ Herodotus could hear Grinnaux spit into his hand and the sloppy sounds of him stroking himself, and then there-- _there_. The feeling of the thick head pushing, pushing, _pushing_ against him until his body gave. _Nonononono this was wrong this was wrong this couldn’t be happening no_ It burned and it hurt, it never stopped, it kept going and going and _heavens_ when would this _end?_

His hands curled into fists, and he struggled fruitlessly against his bonds, as his mouth fell open on a wretched cry. _Stop stop stop stop_ His eyes were unseeing as Grinnaux finally bottomed out within him, only for the agony to begin anew. _Out outoutoutoutout_ and then back in—over and over and over.

Someone was screaming for mercy, and there was another voice, deeply satisfied, that kept muttering things to him: _fuck_ and _tight_ and _yes yes yes!_ His body rocked forward with every rough thrust, toes scraping against the ground and occasionally losing purchase. Grinnaux would snarl behind him then and dig his hands ever deeper into the flesh at his waist, dragging him back, back, _back_ onto his cock— _no_.

A minute passed. An hour passed. A day passed. An eternity.

Grinnaux was panting heavily now, his voice having dissolved into grunts, and Herodotus’s body hung limply from the chains that held him up. His eyes were unfocused, and drool dribbled down his chin and onto the floor; aside from the occasional twitch of fingertip, toe, or tail, he was all but a corpse strung up for the knight’s pleasure.

And he would take that pleasure, spilling deep inside of Herodotus’ body. He thrust forward once, twice, thrice before withdrawing; blood-tinted come trickled down the inside of Herodotus’ thighs, and his eyelids fluttered at the sensation—the barest hint of recognition that _something_ was done. 

Someone appeared before him and tilted his chin up—a man with dark skin, light hair, and a vicious smile. Herodotus felt lips press against his own and then teeth breaking skin; he tasted copper on his tongue. A hand, cold and calloused, brushed the hair from his face. Herodotus stared, gaze empty, as another man came into his cell.

“Ser Adelphel would like to see you now, Warrior of Light.”


End file.
